


a (third) pair of wings

by lobotomycastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Is An Eldritch Horror, Coming of Age, Dean Loves Classic Rock, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Parenthood, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: “Cas… where did you get a baby?”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 123





	a (third) pair of wings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello SPN community! This is what I have lovingly been referring to as 'the deancas baby fic' in my Discord. This is 4k words of pure, self-indulgent fluff. I had so much fun writing this, and the OC baby in this is probably my favorite character that I've ever come up with. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

He brings home the first of the new generation on a rainy day. The infant doesn’t cry, but it observes the world around it with a voracity Castiel has only ever seen in house cats ready to claw their owners’ arms off. 

When Dean sees what he’s holding, he’s immediately on edge. 

“Cas… where did you get a baby?”

“There aren’t many angels left in Heaven. Myself and the remaining few are responsible for raising a new generation of them. This is Zehanpuryu, he’s destined to be a liberator for a group of oppressed people, but his wards won’t be born for another thousand or so years.” 

Dean blinks slowly, inhales, and exhales. “I’m not calling him that. His name is ZZ.” 

“Zehanpuryu is a lovely name, it means ‘one who sets free,’ it’s quite fitting--”

Dean cuts him off. “Anyways, nothing in here is baby-proof, so you can stick ZZ in one of the cushier guest rooms while I cover up all the spark plugs and put away the knives.” 

He knows Dean can’t see them, but his wings still bristle at being brushed off. “ _ Zehanpuryu _ is an angel of the Lord, Dean. He’s quite self-sufficient, even if he is only a few decades old. And he certainly won’t hurt himself with any weapons.” 

Dean rolls his eyes at him, because he’s rude and irritating and doing his best to prove everyone right that Castiel has chosen a horrible mate. “Well, I still think it would be a good idea to make  _ sure _ that ZZ doesn’t hurt himself.” 

And with that, Dean takes Zehanpuryu out of his arms and carries him into a guest bedroom. It’s his first day as a father, and he can already tell that parenthood is going to be a nightmare. 

* * *

“Dean, what in God’s name have you put Zehanpuryu in?”

The child that he’s been entrusted with has been dressed up in a small leather jacket and dark jeans, complete with a onesie that says ‘Born to Ride’ on it. Dean is crouched down, taking photos of the child on his phone, and clearly texting them to others. 

“Just styling ZZ up like his namesake.” 

“This is ridiculous. Zehanpuryu and I have weaponry lessons today, you can do your little photoshoot later.” Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Dean jumps up off the ground and becomes combative with him. 

“Weaponry lessons? He’s a  _ baby! _ ” 

“I can see that. I smote my first demon when I was a century old, and that’s considered late, developmentally speaking. Zehanpuryu should get a running start on his peers if he’s to be brought up in this… chaotic of an era.” 

Dean picks Zehanpuryu up and holds him close. “ZZ is not going anywhere near a weapon, at least not now.” Zehanpuryu chooses that time to babble a string of Enochian nonsense and smack Dean in the face, which honestly, he deserves after how difficult he’s making this. The subvocal ringing of Zehanpuryu’s native tongue makes Dean wince, but he hugs the child closer. 

He sighs. Clearly, this conversation is going to be unproductive. “Fine, no weaponry lessons today, but at least let me show him how to properly control his grace.” 

“What happens if he can’t?” Dean asks, trepidatious, and as if in answer, Zehanpuryu sneezes gently, causing several loud peals of thunder overhead, strong enough to shake the bunker and topple over a bookshelf. Startled, Dean hands Zehanpuryu over, and whistles at the mess. “We’ll get Sam to clean that up, right?” 

Castiel shakes his head as he laughs. “Of course. And Dean, if you’d like to observe Zehan--” Dean glares at him. “-- _ ZZ’s _ training, I’d be happy to show you.” 

The other man grins, clearly elated at the prospect of being an active part of ZZ’s life. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” 

* * *

ZZ takes after Dean in that he’s an impulsive, brash little  _ brat _ . Running off during wing lessons to go muck around with the set of toy drums Dean had bought him. And then running off  _ again _ when he caught up with him. 

“Get back here this instant, or so help me God, I will take you back to Heaven and--” he feels a hand on his shoulder, and it’s Dean holding him back from throttling their imp of a son. 

“Cas, lay off him, he’s just a kid!” 

“He’s an  _ angel _ . He should know better than to run away during a lesson!” 

“Oh, because you’re so good at following orders?” 

That’s the last straw. “I was fine with following orders until I met  _ you! _ You did this to me, and you’re doing it to Zehanpuryu, too! Now if you’ll excuse us--” and with a few flutters of his wings, he’s back in Heaven. Somewhere quiet, and proper, where Zehanpuryu will have no distractions from his mission. 

It’s what’s best for the child. What’s best for his kind. The ache in his heart is irrelevant. 

* * *

He was wrong about there being no distractions. Not for Zehanpuryu, but for him. Namely, Zehanpuryu’s crying. 

“Calm down. Zehanpuryu, I said  _ calm down _ , that’s an order” he tries to reason with the child as it hiccups and breaks into a fresh round of sobs. The clear sky turns dark, and as his cries get louder, the rain turns to small pellets of hail. 

Dammit. Somehow, he knows that Dean will be able to fix this. 

So he swallows his pride and heads back to the bunker, where Sam and Dean are waiting for him. And by the sound of it, talking about him.    
  
“Let me get this straight, I leave for a week to go hunt vamps with Garth, and you and Cas adopt a  _ kid? _ At least invite me to the wedding next time, man.”

“It’s not ‘our’ kid, okay, it’s a baby angel that Cas is taking care of. And he seemed pretty clear that he didn’t want me involved.”

That’s when he chooses to reveal himself. Dean Winchester gave him a lot of things; a home, family, the capacity for free will, and a flair for the dramatic. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

Zehanpuryu sees Dean, and his breaths come slow and even, instead of in hitches between wails. He reaches out to him with chubby arms and grabby, uncoordinated fingers, and babbles more Enochian nonsense. Mostly nonsense. He’ll tell Dean about how Zehanpuryu has decided that he’s the ‘Mama’ of their little household later, when he’s sure Dean won’t go into one of his sullen, broody moods over it. 

“ZZ! What’s hanging, little man? You raising hell up in Heaven?” Dean takes their child from his arms and cradles him, staring at their son like he’s the most precious thing in the world. 

“He is… a lot to handle. Especially alone.” 

Dean’s head snaps up to look at him. “So we’re a team on this?” 

He gives Dean a half-smile. “If you’ll have me.” 

* * *

Things are easier afterwards. Dean forgives him, ZZ goes back to almost never crying, and his training schedule gets toned down to something more moderate; rigorous enough to prepare him for his mission, and for whatever dangers they might run into, but lenient enough that when he sees Dean and ZZ baking together, he doesn’t feel angry at them for wasting time. 

“Y’know, for a toddler, he’s really good at cooking. Didn’t get  _ any _ shell into the cake batter.”

Cake batter that ZZ is now eating, because he is an  _ imp _ . Cas pulls him away from the bowl and sets him on top of the kitchen island. “What’s the occasion?” It’s mid-June, but the summer solstice isn’t until next week, and it’s not a Halley’s comet year… 

“Cas. It’s Father’s Day. We’re baking you a cake.” 

Several emotions, all at once, pierce through him like daggers. Gratitude, exaltation, guilt, a cacophony of feelings. And all that he’s capable of saying to the kindest man he’s ever known, his pitiful excuse for thanks, is “you know I don’t eat, right?” 

Dean flicks his spoon at him, and a drop of chocolate cake batter lands on his nose. He swipes it off to taste it. It’s box mix, he can taste the  sodium aluminosilicate . A pointless indulgence, especially now, but… Dean did this for him, and he made ZZ participate. “Uh huh. Now go wait in the library, we want the decorations to be a surprise. Isn’t that right, ZZ?” 

“Limlal,” is what ZZ says back at him from where he’s seated on the counter. Dean claps his hands in joy. 

“That’s his first word! I think? Can I get a translation?”

“Not really his first, but it’s Enochian for treasure. We don’t exactly have words for pastry or confection. It’s his closest approximation.” 

Dean snakes around him to ruffle ZZ’s hair, which has come in the form of loose blonde curls. “That’s right, kid, cake sure is a treasure.” 

Cas exits the kitchen to go pretend to read in their library while the two of them finish up their little project. He would also like the decorations to be a surprise. 

* * *

ZZ says his first words that are in a human tongue five days later. They’re not in English, because angels are born with the capacity to speak in any language they desire. Instead, ZZ goes with Mandarin Chinese, the language with the most native speakers by far. 

“Bùyào hàipà,” he says, occupied with the plethora of dolls that Dean had gotten him. Castiel occasionally worries that ZZ will grow up spoiled, too weak to carry his fated burden, but he ignores his fears for now. 

“What did he say?” 

“Do not be afraid.”

“...Should I be?”

“ZZ is a warrior who is fated to fell millions to save his people. His adult life will be bloody and violent, filled with revolutions and coups. It is reasonable to fear him, which is why he’s telling you to not do so. He will not harm you.” 

Dean eyes ZZ warily, as the child smashes his two largest dolls - Barbie and Iron Man - together, mimicking a skirmish. Clearly, he has no eye for strategy just yet, but Castiel will teach him all that he needs to know. For one, keep your commanders in a secure, central location that will allow them to coordinate their troops efficiently. 

Eventually, he bores of practicing battle with his dolls, and gestures to be picked up. Dean moves to indulge him, but Castiel reaches him first, scooping him up and bouncing him gently. 

“No tengas miedo,” ZZ says, reaching towards Dean. 

“My Spanish is a little rusty, he said don’t have…?”

“Fear. Don’t have fear. Same words again. I think he likes you better than me.” 

Dean laughs at that, taking ZZ from him. “I mean, I  _ am _ the fun parent. You’re the one that makes him learn shit.” 

He scoffs at that. “My apologies for wanting to make sure that he’s prepared for his mission. I don’t want him to fail like--” he cuts himself off before he can say  _ like I did _ , but Dean, ever-perceptive, picks up on it. 

“Hey, look at me, screw those feathered dickbags, and screw your mission. Look at what we have without them!” He holds up ZZ, who stares at him with clear, brown eyes, the color of the soil in Mesopotamia, the sand at the bottom of a river. 

“Be not afraid,” ZZ says. And now, Castiel understands. ZZ  _ knows _ that Dean isn’t afraid. He’s been trying to talk to  _ him _ . 

“I’m not, Zehanpuryu. I’m not afraid.” 

“You’re not a failure, Cas. ZZ won’t be either.” Dean comes close to him, and delicately brushes away a stray strand of hair from his face. Castiel trembles unsure of how to handle this unnerving, unwavering faith. 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“Well too bad, I just did.” 

And damn him, he says it with such conviction that Castiel has no choice but to believe him.

* * *

During their first outing as a family unit, at a military history museum, they're approached by a multitude of couples congratulating them on their son. One woman asks if ZZ got his blonde hair from the surrogate. 

Before he can explain that ZZ’s true form was fashioned from the first lights of a new star borne from the ashes of a supernova, and that his vessel is merely his closest approximation to one of James Novak’s children, Dean interjects and says that yes, ZZ’s biological mother was a blonde. 

“Well, he still looks like a lovely mix of the two of you! Such a handsome little man, aren’t you? Yes you are!” She touches the tip of ZZ’s nose, and then clutches her side. 

“You okay, ma’am?” Dean asks, as Castiel unbuckles ZZ from the stroller and lets him out for a few minutes. They’re in the children’s wing of the museum, which is filled with interactive diversions to trick the young ones into learning about the Battle of Yorktown. 

“I’m fine, I just… this is a bit much for conversation between strangers, but I've been having pain in my right kidney, a malignant tumor. Inoperable, is what my doctor said. And when I poked your son, the pain just vanished!” 

While Dean tries to come up with a suitable explanation for the woman that doesn’t involve revealing ZZ’s angelic nature, Castiel smiles, ruffling their son’s hair. He’ll have to remember to congratulate him on healing his first human soon. ZZ, for his part, is unperturbed, and sits at a small table to draw with the other children. 

Dean sneaks up behind him to watch ZZ draw. “Whatcha workin’ on, little man?” 

“Levithmong!” ZZ enthusiastically shows Dean the paper, where he’s drawn a circle with four legs, the bottom half colored pink. 

“Did he just say Leviathan?” 

“Beasts of the field. We saw a cattle ranch on our way here, remember?” 

Dean rolls his eyes, as if Enochian being an ancient language used exclusively for the word of celestial and infernal beings, and thus lacking a suitably gentle word for cattle, is his or ZZ’s fault. “We gotta get him some Dora the Explorer or something, he can’t keep scaring me like that.” 

A few moments pass, with Castiel sitting with ZZ, when he suddenly cries “Qaal!” and shows Castiel his latest drawing. A stick figure with a mop of brown hair and green dots for eyes, in a gridded shirt.

“That’s not what God looks like. I know you haven’t met him yet, but you should know that’s not him.” 

“Qaal,” he says again, pointing at Dean, who’s wandered over to a display on canons.  _ Oh.  _

“Dean Winchester is not your biological creator, young one. If he was, you’d be a Nephilim, which is an abomination. He’s simply helping me care for you.”

“Qaal?” ZZ begins to whimper, which makes the sky outside cloud over and go grey. Castiel rushes him over to Dean’s arms, and Dean begins soothing him instinctually. 

“What’s wrong, Z? The rain got you scared?” ZZ ceases his whimpers and promptly falls asleep against Dean’s chest, the conniving, attention-seeking imp. His heart soars at the sight. 

“Let’s get him back home,” he says, heading towards the exit, and Dean follows. 

* * *

A few months in, Dean asks him about ZZ’s future. 

“So do angels not have like, school where they can send the kids? You gotta raise ZZ forever?”

Castiel thinks back to when he was a fledgeling, being trained to lead his garrison during the time of the first Crusades. It’s been so long since he’s been in Heaven’s equivalent of school, but some part of him misses it. It was so much simpler, then. “He’ll enter the Warrior’s academy, most likely be fast-tracked onto the General’s path as opposed to the Soldier’s one. The same one I was on.”

Dean looks at him curiously. “Wait, so you  _ do _ have schools? Then what the hell are we doing?”

“We are… preschool. He can’t very well learn how to properly wield his angel blade if he doesn’t know what one is. The same way you couldn’t learn to read if you didn’t know what the alphabet was.”

“Tell me about it.”

“About what?”

Dean stares at him like he’s an idiot. It’s not an unfamiliar look. “Your time in angel boot camp. Or is it like a frat, where you got secret rituals or something?” 

He laughs. “Nothing of the sort. A lot of it was boring. Memorizing strategies. Tests on the different kinds of demons we would face. The practicals were the worst. I remember the first time they brought in a real, live demon for us to practice interrogation on. I nearly failed that lesson, only shaped up when they threatened to send me to the Administrative school instead.” 

“Being a business major that bad?”

He sighs, not sure how to explain. “It wouldn’t have been  _ bad _ , per say, but I wanted to fight. Maybe this is my own pride speaking, but I wanted a higher purpose than being a pencil-pusher.” 

The other man smirks at him. “Well, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” 

Castiel winces. Memories of having to send his brothers and sisters to die, of being stripped of his title for speaking out against orders from his superiors, flash in front of his eyes. “I suppose so,” he responds, voice sounding unsure even to his own ears.

ZZ, who’s just discovered that he has wings in the past week, appears in front of them. Dean hugs him, even as he scolds the child for not staying with Sam. 

“A esiasch gnai praf c gohed pvrgel!” ZZ says, indignant, and now it’s Castiel’s turn to scold him. 

“Mind your tongue, Zehanpuryu! That is your uncle you speak ill of. And you  _ know  _ English, use it around Dean.” 

“Uncle Sammy’s boring,” is how ZZ translates his Enochian for Dean, who, unexpectedly, bursts out in peals of near-hysterical laughter at the words. Castiel does not understand, and he informs Dean as such. 

Dean wipes away tears from his eyes, and steadies himself before he clues Cas in. “Sammy’s gonna lose his shit when he finds out he’s the boring uncle. I gotta tell him now!” He takes ZZ with him, and leaves Castiel to ponder how valuable a true sibling for ZZ would be. It would teach him humility, generosity. 

And it would give him someone to make fun of when he’s older, which appears to have been immensely valuable for Dean.

* * *

“Dean, do you think I should bring home another child?” 

“What?”

“You heard me.” 

Dean startles, bringing him out of the trance he’d been in. He and ZZ have been practicing meditation; for Dean, it’s a way to relax, and for ZZ, it’s a way to steady his form and ensure he doesn’t morph into a four-winged eye surrounded by interlocking circlets of fire in the middle of playtime. So far, he’s exhibited excellent control of his shape, but one can never be too careful. 

“We can barely handle this one, and you think we need another?” 

“I think a sibling would be good for him.”

“Doesn’t he already have a few thousand siblings?” 

“You know what I mean! Not siblings like me and Naomi, siblings like you and Sam!”

That gives Dean pause. “Can we take a raincheck on that?” 

“Dean.” 

“Yeah, alright. I’m gonna be honest, Cas. I don’t think I can handle having another one of these little monsters running around in here. The stress can’t be good for my heart.”

Castiel nods. “We should… wait, then? Until he’s old enough for the Warrior’s academy? And then we can get another?”

Dean shakes his head disbelievingly, chuckling softly. “Yeah, let’s wait until we’re empty-nesters. Then we can retire, move to Florida, and listen to Jimmy Buffet unironically while we raise a bunch of kids.”

He tilts his head, questioning. He’s not sure what Dean’s getting at; what does raising another angel have to do with indulging in Sloth, relocating to a tepid, Godless wasteland and listening to the siren-song of Lucifer?

“It was a joke.” Ah. That explains it. 

Dean is quiet for a moment, and then he speaks again. “There  _ will _ be more, right? More baby angels?”

“You enjoy this.” It’s not a question. Fatherhood is a good look on Dean Winchester. Better than it is on him, and certainly better than it was on John Winchester. 

He looks flustered, which is very endearing. “I don’t enjoy it, alright, it just keeps me busy in between cases. ZZ makes sure I don’t get all stir-crazy.” 

“Okay, Dean.” 

“Shut up, Cas.” 

* * *

After eighteen months with them, ZZ’s third pair of wings comes in. Which means Dean can’t see him for approximately two weeks while Castiel helps him get his new form under control. 

The third pair of wings means that he can start preparing for his ascent to Heaven. The occasion is bittersweet. He lets Dean know via a phone call, which based on his reaction, was a mistake. 

“He’s still so little! How is he gonna get up there? And how is he ready for warrior school or wherever the hell he’s going?” 

Castiel is currently in the middle of a remote forest with his hands full of enraged fledgeling angel in true form, so he doesn’t have time to let Dean know that this is instinctual, and that the other angels will take it from there, assessment for the Warrior’s academy included. Instead, he focuses on soothing ZZ, and leaves Dean on the line in case ZZ wants to hear from him. 

“Zehanpuryu, listen to me. I know you’re in pain, I remember when my third set of wings came in, I thought I was going to die. Take deep breaths, and stretch them  _ gently _ , not all at once.” 

For once in his life, ZZ listens to him, and within ten minutes, his wings are spread in their full glory - dazzling light, aflame with righteousness, unmarred by sin or guilt. It’s stunning, and he hopes that one day ZZ will be able to appreciate this set of wings for how important they are, even as he gains a fourth or even fifth pair of them as he rises through the ranks of Heaven’s army. 

Once his wings are out, ZZ can’t stop flitting about the trees, entranced by how fast and how far he can go. “Come on, let’s go back home now. Dean misses you.” 

ZZ looks at him, his hundred eyes burning with joy. “Ge salman?”

“Yes,  _ our _ home.” 

* * *

When it comes time for ZZ to fly to Heaven, Dean cries. Not like how ZZ cries, but a quiet, resigned hitch of his breath. Like he should have known better than to get attached, and he’s tearing himself apart for it. 

“Come on, Dean. This is a big day for him.”

Dean looks up at him from where he’s seated in the bunker, hunched over a dusty book. “How long will he be gone? He’ll be allowed to visit, right?”

“He’ll always be welcome back here, you know that.” 

Castiel tugs him up from his seat and leads him outside, where ZZ is waiting patiently for them. He’s back in a non-destructive form, this time looking quite like a young Dean Winchester, with a swoop of dark brown hair atop his head, and wide, trusting eyes. 

They watch as he spreads his wings, their shadow visible on the side of the bunker, the size of them almost too big for his small body. The tension in the air is palpable, and ZZ looks more nervous by the minute. He glances to Castiel for comfort. 

“Godspeed, Zehanpuryu,” he says, and ZZ runs up to him and gives him a hug. He does the same with Dean, who kisses the top of his head, and pats his shoulder, reassuring. 

“Go on, Z, git. And you better have aced your classes by the time you come back here, or we’re cutting your allowance in half,” Dean jokes, wiping at his eyes for any errant tears, and ZZ smiles, confidence restored. Dean was always his favorite. 

ZZ spreads his wings again, and this time, he ascends. His eyes go white, and he hovers for a few seconds before vanishing, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. 

“And you said he’ll be back?” Dean asks, fretting, already missing their son and fearing for his safety.

And that’s when they hear it. A soft, disembodied voice, echoing in the woods around them. Gentle, but commanding and stern. The voice of a General. Zehanpuryu. 

It tells them -- “Be not afraid.” 

**Author's Note:**

> All of the Enochian in this fic is authentic, by the way! As authentic as an angelfire page from 2002 made by some random satanist can be, anyways. Link to that [here](https://www.satanisgod.org/www.angelfire.com/empire/serpentis666/Letters.html)!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always a treat! Come find me on tumblr as [@earth1610s](https://earth1610s.tumblr.com)!


End file.
